“He Big Sambo’s boy,” Rufus said, “an’ you know he like shit!” He worked the small of my back with his broad, rough fingers. My ass turned up like a cat’s pussy. One spot about five inches up my asshole, each time when his dick rubbed over it, all I could do was squirm and drip. “Yeah, that sounds fine, Red. Maybe it’s gettin’ ’bout time to turn him around again and see what fuckin’ a mouth full of your shit feels like—”

“Well, you got a shitty dick, nigger. And shit is sure what this cocksucker goes for.” Red laughed down at me, and pressed my face—like we had a secret between us. Maybe it was all his cheese. “I ain’t never seen a cocksucker this young who went after shit as much as—”

Then the flashlight beam hit.

Red staggered. Rufus stopped.

“Now what the fuck you bastards think you’re doing!”

Rufus’s hands tightened on my back. Red’s belly moved against my forehead. I could hear them both breathing.

“Hey, stop workin’ your face on that dick! And keep your ass still, I say!”

Which was hard, because Red and Rufus were too—even though they’d stopped moving.

“Come on, cocksucker! Calm your ass down, now, and let Rufus go. Red, get your fuckin’ dick out of his face—now!” Footsteps came through the brush.

“That you, Whitey …?” You could tell Rufus was squinting in the flashlight glare.

“I’ll let him go,” Red ventured, “but it sure looks like he’s still hungry.…”

I felt Rufus shift inside my hole.

Then somebody yanked me up by the hair. Red’s cock slipped free. I staggered. Rufus’s dick came loose—and that time I did feel the curve. It kind of hurt.

“What kinds of sons of bitches are you, both fuckin’ the little bastard at the same time?” Even with just the flash, the ice-colored eyes going back and forth between Red and Rufus looked like they had bulbs on inside. The way he held me, my arm was rubbing against his cartridge belt. “Shit!” With the jerk, his blue cap had gone crooked on all the nigger-tight, ash-pale hair. He looked awful angry. “You are two low motherfuckers!”

I opened my mouth wide and let my tongue slop back and forth over my lower lip. Spit and shit ran down my chin.

The policeman looked down at me, frowned, and said, “Jesus Christ …!”

“I tell you, Whitey,” Red said, a little warily, “I think the cock-sucker’s still hungry.”

Suddenly the policeman shoved me. I fell back into the brush. “What’d you do to him?” The policeman raised his flashlight to move it back and forth between the two garbagemen. “What kind of little freak is this?”

Bits of light slid on the leaves beside my face, caught on the side of Red’s torn pants—I could see a stretch of hairy, freckled shin as the light shifted—and I could see the shadow each hair made. I looked up at Rufus; the flashlight turned the torn, greasy tanktop, which had been green out under the dock lights, gray. His shoulder gleamed with sweat. So did Red’s grinning, spotted jaw.